


Gold

by SharpestRose



Series: Things that never happened to the Robins [6]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We happy few.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold

The room's freezing. Jason's hand, pulled back down into sleep halfway through readjusting the blankets over them, rests on Tim's shoulder. Tim's tempted to let the warm weight of it keep him halfway dreaming, but Steph's hair is tickling his mouth and nose and Dick's breathing damp huffs of flu-germ all over the back of his neck, so Tim sighs and opens his eyes.

Kon's hovering a foot off the floorboards by the open door. He raises an eyebrow.

Tim scowls at the thin light coming through the open windows. Regards Kon for a long moment. Covers a yawn with his palm.

"Aw, Gold, man, don't -" Kon pleads.

"Breach!" Tim says sharply. Jason rolls off the lefthand edge of the mattress and lands in a crouch, darting past Kon and out the door. Steph and Dick, either side of Tim, spring up and run for the windows, dropping out of sight and down the two stories to street-level.

Kon groans. "You _suck_."

Tim covers another yawn with his hand. "You shouldn't have let us get so much rest. They'll stay ahead of your team for hours."

It's not an exercise without practical purpose. The chase will help reacquaint Kara, Cassie and Courtney with the lay of Gotham, and give Steph and Jason and Dick a final chance to sweep their beats for trouble.

"It's not like I've been watching you snore for hours. I only just got here." Kon crosses his arms and humphs, spinning up into a mid-air loop in frustration. "How come you're not playing the Run, Robin, Run game?"

"I have to keep you distracted, don't I?" Tim hauls himself off the bed and limps over to the bottled water supplies. They all have a thin skin of ice over them. Tim sighs and hits one against the wall, dislodging a fine shower of plaster in the process.

Kon glares. "How long's your leg been torn up?"

"Just a few days. The stitches I put in are holding well." Tim gulps a few mouthfuls of water down. "Stop giving me that look."

"You're skin and bones! Don't think I missed those new scars on Robin Red's arm, either. You're all stringy mincemeat under your uniforms."

"We're _fine_."

"You're eight days over curfew. Six weeks in No Man's Land, twelve out. That's the rule for all the teams, Gold, and it's a rule for a reason."

Tim gives Kon a long look. "You're genuinely freaked out right now, aren't you?"

"Hell yes! The four of you are certifiable!"

Cassie flies up to the window Dick dropped through and deposits an irritated-looking Steph on the floor.

"Hi," she mutters to Tim.

"Near Central," he says. It's not a question. Steph makes a face and Cassie nods.

Tim feels his mouth curve into the expressive equivalent of saying 'I told you so'. "Thought you were going to alter your route there?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't get around to it," she grumbles before turning to Cassie and Kon. "So can we go now, or are you going to make us sit around while the others play cat and mouse with Green and Red?"

Kon shrugs. "We can take you now. I heard you guys go into a coma if you're more than five miles apart from each other, though."

"Ha. Ha." Steph's voice is utterly flat.

"C'mon." Cassie holds a hand down. "Let's go."

Kon carries Tim with an arm across his chest. Tim knows it's a test, to see if pressure on his two recently-healed ribs is enough to make him ask for a shift in position. Tim clenches his jaw, knowing any complaint will earn him another lecture on looking after himself. He forces himself not to look down as they fly up and up above the broken skyline.

 _We're coming back_ , he promises the city. _We'll always come back._

"Hey!" Tim hears Cassie shout to Steph against the wind. "I've been meaning to ask. How come you're Brown? The other Robins are jewel colors - Red, Green, and Gold. What made you break the pattern?"

"You might say it's who I was born to be," Steph says, flashing a secretive smile at Tim across the empty sky as she answers. "Have you ever seen a female robin in the wild?"

Cassie seems satisfied with that answer, and treats Steph to a graceful crest and dip through the air before speeding them ahead of the guys and out of sight.

"What about you?" Kon asks Tim.

The sunshine at the park when he was four and the other kids let him play catch with them. The bracelets and rings Dad would buy for Mom when they both wanted to stop fighting. The bulb on his night-light when he stayed awake late reading in bed.

"It felt right," Tim answers.

-

This is the end of their third turn in Gotham since the city was cut off, and already there's a routine to their debriefing.

When they reach Star City, Kon takes Tim to Dr Madison. She seems quite impressed with the job Tim did with the stitches up the side of his thigh. She also looks like she's determined not to let him see that she's impressed.

"You're to stay off this for two weeks. Borrow one of Bruce's canes. If you come back to get these stitches out and I even suspect you've been walking or running, you're going to see my bad side. Got it?"

Tim nods, fully aware he'd get a tactile telekinesis smack upside the head if he did otherwise.

-

Kon drops him off at the spacious house Tim's never going to think of as home no matter how long he stays there.

He can hear the sound of the shower in Steph's en suite. After a moment's deliberation, Tim opts to use the facilities down in the modified basement and cellars. They don't feel like home either, but they're closer to it than the rest of the house.

The shower spray drives the grime off his skin and pinks the flesh revealed underneath, pounding down against Tim's scalp and hair hard enough to lull him into an exhausted, finally-warm trance.

After a little while Dick and Jason join him, comparing their methods of avoiding Courtney and Kara. The flush of the hot water blurs the edges of the worst of their bruises, softening the look of stark violence on their bodies. They scuffle for the shampoo bottle, laughing giddily with the simple thrill of feeling comfortable and safe.

"Tim? You in there, kiddo?" Dick asks, waving a hand in front of Tim's face. His voice still sounds a little stuffed up from the uncomfortable and persistent cold that's been dogging him.

Tim smiles. "Sorry. I was blanking?"

Jason snorts. "For like two minutes."

"Sorry," Tim says again. "Are you guys going up now?"

"Yeah. There's a bunch of that weird candy you like in the kitchen, did you see?"

Tim does his best impression of looking superior. As he's naked, wet, and the wrong side of underweight, his best isn't that great. "Pocky isn't weird."

"'Course not. It's just pretzel sticks dipped in icing, what's weird about that?" Jason says sarcastically, grabbing Tim's hand. "Let's go. I want to watch the news and read the papers and eat an apple. Ten apples."

Tim exchanges a smirking glance with Dick, both of them recalling the numerous times when Jason would extol the virtues of cheese in a can as an alternative to snacking on fruit.

"I saw that!" Jason says, not turning around. "Like you're not both craving fresh food."

"Saw what? We did nothing." Dick's voice is nothing if not sincere.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

-

Tim's favourite baggy sweater in considerably baggier than it used to be, but he's still using the original notches on the belt for his jeans and that's a step up from last time they got back. He walks back downstairs to the spacious kitchen and dining area, trying to remember his Dad's phone number.

Tim tries to make it a habit to call and check in once a week, whenever he's somewhere with a working phone. He knows his father doesn't especially like that Tim's a Robin, but they've agreed to disagree for the time being. After all, there are worse things than having your child attend the best schools with all expenses paid and be recognized as a member of the country's elite forces.

Tim's Dad probably knows that his son's not really a metahuman, like the paperwork all says, but Tim's known for as long as he can remember that almost all people will opt for easy lies over complicated truths.

-

Alfred looks shocked at Tim's appearance, despite Tim's protests that he's always been slight and will look fine once he's had a haircut and bought some new clothes.

"And limping, too. Between this and Master Dick's influenza and Master Jason's mild dehydration and Miss Stephanie's suspected conjunctivitis, I'm seriously considering suggesting you all be put on leashes until your thirtieth birthdays."

"Good luck with that," Tim replies, pouring himself a glass of milk. Something almost like a smile tugs at the corners of Alfred's mouth.

"Master Bruce and I have made it our habit to clip any articles we thought might be of interest to you upon your return. The scrap-book is in the library, at your usual reading table. The others are in there also, I believe."

Tim nods, and heads towards that wing of the house. Alfred makes a small stuttering noise.

"You'll drink that milk in here, I think. The tendency the four of you have towards rambunctiousness, while endearing, is not kind to the carpets."

Tim smiles. "We missed you, Alfie."

"I can assure you the feeling was mutual, sir."

-

Tim is unsurprised that the first thing he sees when he enters the library is Dick's one-palm handstand on the back of one of the leather couches. Steph's sitting on the windowsill, her hair fluffy and clean around her face and a can of soda balanced precariously on one knee.

"You sneak that past Alfred?" Tim asks, hobbling over to that side of the room. Steph shakes her head.

"I promised him that if I spilled it he was allowed to confiscate my escrima sticks for a week."

Tim gives a low whistle. "Better not spill it, then."

"I wasn't planning on it."

Jason tries to pounce on Tim from behind. Tim sidesteps the surprise attack, sending Jason tumbling.

"How'd you _do_ that?" Jason asks, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"Heard you."

"Did not. This carpet could muffle a nuclear strike."

"Hmm. Must've been the smell, then," Tim muses.

"I'm glad to see your spirits are all in good health, at least," Bruce says, surveying the tableau from the doorway. Dick flips down to land on the sofa. Steph puts her drink down on the end table and slides off the windowsill to stand against the wall. Tim offers Jason a hand and pulls him to his feet.

"Hey, Bruce," they all say in unison, then laugh as they realize what they've done.

"Robin," Bruce replies with a nod, moving to sit on the couch on Dick's left. His cane gleams a little, elegant and simple and such a natural part of his movement that sometimes it's difficult to remember that Bruce wasn't walking with it from his very first baby steps. He was already ten years old, and a budding athlete in his school's sports program, when he was injured in the mugging that claimed his parents' lives.

"Julie Madison tells me you're all rather battered," Bruce goes on as Jason flops down beside him. Steph sits cross-legged beside Bruce's legs, in front of Jason. Tim's position is a mirror of Steph's, just as Jason's is of Dick. They always sit like this; it's comfortable and close and all five of them can move into a defensive stance in less than a second if the need arises.

Dick shrugs, obviously not wanting to contradict the doctor's assessment but loathe to agree. "We did a lot of good work. Between us and the police, Two-Face's gang are all but driven out of the inner city, and nobody's seen anything of the Joker's crew for weeks. Ivy's still got a grip on the park, but that shouldn't be a problem for the new team, so long as nobody lets Kon-El get too close to her."

"Kara should go. I bet she'd look even hotter under Ivy's thrall," Jason suggests. Steph punches him in the shin. "Ow! What'd I do?"

"You were born, for starters."

"Oh, there's an original comeback."

Bruce clears his throat. Steph and Jason go quiet.

"As I was saying, you all need time to recover before you begin active patrols."

They all make small and indignant noises of protest.

"The break will give you a chance to get used to the new commlink equipment I've had designed for you. Your masks now have medium-resolution video linkup as well as the still photograph function built in, and your earpieces can double as plugs if you're in a situation with a harmful noise level."

"Look at Timmy smile at that," Dick says with a grin of his own. "Give him a bunch of new toys and he's the happiest guy in the world."

Bruce keeps talking. "There are also optional uniform variants. A lighter, more flexible weave on the suits -" Dick's face lights up. "- or reinforced gauntlets and shin guards, for protection in close-range fighting -" Jason bares his teeth in a feral grin. "- or extra loops and sheaths on the tunic and belt, for defensive weapons." Steph beams, balancing her soda can on the tip of one finger.

"You sure know how to make an enforced benching seem like a holiday," Tim remarks, his voice wry. Bruce smiles.

"Believe me, if I thought there was any alternative to keeping the four of you in a confined space for an extended period of time, I'd choose it." Bruce pauses, as if daring them to call him on the lie that is before he goes on. "Lobby groups are making slow but steady headway in having Gotham declared part of the United States again. I was thinking it might be worthwhile to have the four of you hold another press conference, to talk about the living conditions inside the city."

"Only if I don't have to sit next to Jason this time," Steph declares. "He jiggles his leg and chews gum. It's distracting."

"I can't help it if I'm a compulsive multi-tasker."

"Tim and I can sit in the middle of the line and do most of the talking. You two can be the outer edges," Dick says, scolding and placating simultaneously.

"Is that all right with you, Tim?" Bruce asks.

Tim nods. "Fine. I'll put some statistics together based on the notes we brought back."

Bruce nods. "That will be helpful. Is there anything else any of you need?"

"Can't complain," Dick says, stretching as much as his position on the couch will allow.

"I second that," Steph puts in with a nod.

"Well, I wouldn't mind -" Jason starts, grinning. "Nah, I'm kidding. It's all good."

"Yeah," Tim agrees. "No complaints from me."

"Now if only I believed," Bruce says, pretending to sigh. "That this tranquility could possibly last."

"It could happen."

"Maybe."

"Possibly."

"In theory."

"Well, if you all believe it, then I suppose it must be true."


End file.
